Change
by nolarin
Summary: Sousuke has to learn that it's okay for things to change-that sometimes you work through things and they change you. It doesn't mean he's failed, it just means he's different now. And maybe he doesn't have to learn that on his own.
1. Chapter 1

When I was in high school, back when my shoulder was first starting to act up, I remember I would spend hours at a time in the locker room showers. I would just sit there under the hot water, praying to every deity in existence that I had a bad case of muscle strain. Then, when I realized it wasn't a muscle strain, I would just sit there, not thinking of anything.

It had always been my dream to compete against Rin again.

And that dream was officially dead.

There was only one thing that could ever marginally lift my spirits. Every so often, a voice would float through the vent above the very last shower. I never gave any thought to where it was coming from. But for whatever reason, it used to make me a little less angry. And I was plenty angry—at the world, at myself, at Rin.

My days used to be filled with water and chlorine and starting blocks and whistles. It was the only thing I ever really wanted.

Now, my days are filled with homework and painkillers and therapy and uncertainty. This is definitely not how I pictured things would turn out.

But here I am, standing in front of the faded old building where I spend every other day in misery. It's a relic among the newly remodeled buildings where the general medical students have their classes. It's almost like no one cares about physical therapy.

I warily make my way inside and up to the second floor. Usually, this floor is filled with students, fussing over books and dummies and sometimes each other. Some of the rooms here are private exam rooms for the rare occasions that the professors have patients come in, but most of the activity happens in the lounge and adjoining equipment room.

How did I even get here in the first place again?

Oh yeah…

 _"Hey! Yamazaki!"_

 _I turn my head at the sound of my name. The guy calling me looks pretty familiar, but I can't quite place him. His dark hair and dark eyes aren't exactly distinctive, but still…_

 _"It's been a couple years!" the guy pants, coming to a stop in front of me._

 _Okay, so now we're getting somewhere. If it's only been that long, he's gotta be from Tokitsu. Probably._

 _"Yeah, you're right," I mumble, not sure how exactly to figure out who he is._

 _"It's not gonna offend me if you tell me you can't remember me," the guy teases._

 _"Uh… Right… Sorry…"_

 _"Aizawa Ichigo, I was a year your senior at Tokitsu."_

 _"Oh, right, sure," I reply. "Backstroke, right?"_

 _"Yup!"_

 _"How've you been?"_

 _"Pretty good! But I'm more interested in how you're doing," he says._

 _"Uh… Why?"_

 _"Your shoulder!" he exclaims. "I remember you quit because of it, but then I heard you were swimming at Sumezuka last year. So I guess you probably got it all taken care of then?"_

 _"Oh, actually, no. It's pretty fucked. The doctors say surgery won't even do anything for it."_

 _"Oh, wow." The smile falls from his face._

 _"Yeah, but it's fine," I shrug, almost like I'm trying to prove it's not that bad—though the slight twinge of pain bites back like a sarcastic quip._

 _"You know, I don't want this to seem weird, but I want to ask you… Are you doing physical therapy or anything right now?"_

 _"Just once a month check ups, to work out the kinks and make sure it isn't falling off or anything," I try for a joke._

 _"Well, I ask because I'm actually in the physical therapy program here," he says eagerly. "I'm sure it's pretty painful, and I'm looking to get some hours of experience in. We usually just work on each other and like family, but it might be kinda cool to work on someone who actually needs it. It wouldn't cost anything, and we could do it as often as you need it."_

 _"Uh… I don't know about that," I mumble._

 _"I promise I'm not bad," he laughs. "My girlfriend just gets pretty tired of being my practice dummy."_

 _I take a minute to consider his offer. I'm not exactly in love with it, but it's not a bad deal. Free massages and therapy from someone who actually knows what they're doing—or so he says, at least. By the time a month goes by between appointments with my actual physical therapist, my shoulder usually feels like it actually might fall off._

 _"Yeah, I guess I can do that, as long as my doctor says it's okay," I concede._

 _He looks as though Christmas and his birthday have both come at once. Probably a little too excited for what's actually happening, but whatever._

That's how I find myself in this run down little building three times a week, waiting in a room that I know is not meant for visitors. At least today, I'm here a little later, so most of the actual students are gone. There's just one girl here, sitting at a table in the corner. She has headphones on and is furiously clicking on her laptop. She doesn't even look up when I come in the room. I notice that her glasses look dangerously close to slipping off of her face, but she seems like she's in another world completely.

I take a seat at the other side of the room and thumb through my phone. It's not like there's anything interesting, but it's something to do. I flick through an album of Rin's pictures from Australia—mostly pictures he's taken of himself places. As if I expected anything else.

I look up casually and realize that the girl across the room is staring at me. She's not quite ogling, just sort of curiously watching. Whatever trance she was in has been lifted, as her glasses have been pushed back up her nose. The weirdest thing is that she doesn't look away when I catch her eye. Isn't that what most people do? Glance away somewhat abashed at being caught staring? But she doesn't even acknowledge that I've looked her way.

I have to break the weird eye contact first, so I look down at my phone again. I pretend to do something on it even though the screen is locked. I hear her clicking the keyboard again and am relieved to see her attention back on the computer. Now I take a minute to watch her. Every so often, she rakes her fingers through her shoulder-length blonde hair, it seems out of habit. Her gray eyes are glued to the computer screen.

Then suddenly, she's looking at me again. This is starting to get really weird, and I feel extremely grateful to hear the door off to the left open.

"Hey, sorry we had to do this so late," Aizawa says, rubbing the back of his neck. "We had a test earlier, and it was so stress—babe, what are you doing here?"

I realize that last bit was probably not for me. Sure enough, when I look up at him, he's looking at the girl in the corner… Who is _still_ watching me.

"I didn't really feel like working in the library again, so I just came by early," she replies, only looking away from me once she's finished speaking.

"Well, I'll probably be like another hour."

"That's okay, I'm keeping busy," she shrugs.

"Well, if you're sure," he concedes, then turns to me. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

I follow him into the back room and take a seat on the massage table. We run through our usual routine. He asks me standard questions about how I've been since my last visit—I always give the same answers since my last appointment was literally two days ago, but I get why he's asking. He massages for a while to loosen me up. Then it's absolute hell—stretching and lifting and reaching and burning. The reverse flies always make me wish I were dead, though I'm starting to notice it hurts incrementally less than the first time. Then there's a little more massaging, followed by ice to reduce the swelling. Aizawa looks pleased at the end of today's session.

"You know, I know it probably doesn't feel like you're making progress, but this is actually way better than the first time you came to me. Remember when you couldn't even move it backwards? And now you can!"

"Yeah, just takes me months to get there," I grumble.

"But you're making progress," he repeats.

I know he's right, and I know I'm being difficult. I'm always shitty when we're done for the day—a combination of pain and frustration. He puts up with it well.

"Yeah, I know," I concede.

"So, Monday then? Regular time?"

"Yeah, I'll be here," I nod.

We go back out to the main room. The girl is still there, and she looks up at us when we come in. Aizawa is chattering behind me, something about the test they had to take today. But I'm not listening. I'm not even sure if it's me he's talking to. I wish this girl would stop staring at me, or at least fucking say something.

"Hey, cheer up," Aizawa says suddenly, clapping me on my good shoulder.

"Yeah, I got it," I grumble, heading for the door.

"I think you're almost to the point where you'll be able to get back in a pool," he calls after me. "There're plenty of water exercises we can do. Chin up, Yamazaki."

The thought should cheer me up, but I'm in a shitty mood. I turn back to him and say a quick thanks.

The girl is still watching me, but now her eyes are wider and her brows are raised. I wonder vaguely what that look is for, but I don't care to stick around. Like I said, I'm in a shitty mood. I take off, letting the door swing shut behind me.

Even though it's already been more than a full semester, I still feel a little out of place here. My original plan after graduation had been to move back home and help my dad run the body shop. But when I told him that, he said like hell that was happening—his words. Even if I couldn't swim professionally, I still needed to have a dream. He and I both knew that didn't involve lying under cars for hours on end. Instead, he has me take the entrance exam for the school in Tokyo that he and mom went to. Because I didn't have shit-for-brains, I passed just fine. He didn't seem bothered by the fact that I didn't have a goal in mind. In fact, he claimed that he didn't have one either when he started college.

He told me that even if I didn't ever figure it out, maybe I'd meet a girl that would "change my life"—again, his words. And his reasoning? "That's what happened to me."

So, here I am, months later, still no dream, still no life-changing girl. And he still doesn't seem worried for some reason. But it's his money he's wasting, so I guess I can't complain.

I feel my phone buzz in my back pocket. It's a text.

 _I picked up everything for dinner but forgot to get toilet paper. If you want it, you'll have to get it_.

"Ugh," I groan.

Twenty minutes later, I make my way up the steps to my apartment, a package of toilet paper under my arm. I unlock the door and make my way inside. There is not one but two pairs of shoes at the door. I'm certain I know whom the second pair belongs to.

"Ugh."

I slide my shoes off and put on the slippers waiting for me. The hum of the tv from the living room and the smell of fish greets me. I make my way into the living room and have my suspicions confirmed.

"Welcome home!" Makoto greets me with a smile.

I reply with a grunt and drop the toilet paper on the ground. When Haru looks back at me, it's with disdain.

"Yeah, you needed that," he says, looking down at the toilet paper and then back at his food.

"No shit," I retort.

Makoto laughs, but whether it's because he appreciates the pun or he's trying to ease the tension, I have no idea.

When I found out that I would be going to the same school as Makoto and Haru, I wasn't jumping for joy. But I figured it was a big university, so I wouldn't see much of them. Then my dad told me it was either find a roommate and get an apartment or stay in the cheapest dorm available. Makoto was the one to approach me and ask if I wanted to room with him and another guy from his school—not Haru, thank god. I couldn't exactly say no.

Unfortunately, that means Haru is here constantly.

Our other roommate Mitomo is rarely home. He's in the medical program and has work at weird hours. Sometimes I wonder if he even comes home at all. But he pays his rent on time and keeps his things clean, so I can't complain.

Haru, on the other hand, is a slob. He leaves his things lying around all over the apartment, and he doesn't even live here. I refuse to touch them, so Makoto is left playing mother hen. It's irritating, but I'm learning to choose my battles with him.

Sort of.

"Why are you even here?" I ask, taking a seat at the other side of the table.

"Sorry, I invited him over. I knew you had therapy tonight," Makoto replies.

"Whatever, it's fine," I grumble.

Makoto and I trade off cooking when we're both here, so tonight it is a simple meal of fish, rice, and miso soup. His standard. Not that I do anything fancier, but I at least like to use beef sometimes.

"How was therapy?" Makoto asks.

"Fine."

"Anything interesting happen?"

"No."

"Enlightening," Haru deadpans.

"Whatever," I groan.

When we first moved in together, Makoto felt like he needed to fill in the uncomfortable silences with conversation. But I think he's learned that I don't mind it—and I have a feeling Haru doesn't either. So tonight, we're relatively quiet, eating dinner and occasionally letting ourselves get distracted by the tv. I'm almost finished when my phone buzzes again.

 _Call me when you're free, I have the night off_.

I take everyone's dishes—including Haru's, begrudgingly—into the kitchen and wash them hastily. My shoulder is throbbing again, though that isn't unusual after a night of therapy. I grab my icepack out of the freezer and silently retreat to my room.

The phone only makes it through half of a ring before the voice on the other end picks up.

 _"Hey, that was fast,"_ Rin laughs.

"Yeah, well, I'm free," I reply.

 _"How's everything going?"_

"Fine."

 _"Classes going alright?"_

"Yup."

 _"Are you partying your ass off?"_

"It's a non-stop thrill ride."

 _"Meet any cute girls yet?"_

"Yeah, I'm swimming in tail over here."

I'm waiting for him to get to the point. We've never been ones for small talk. I know there's something else he wants to talk about.

 _"Speaking of swimming…"_

Here it is.

 _"How's that shoulder coming along?"_

Bingo.

"Still shit," I reply.

 _"Nothing new?"_

"Nope."

There's silence on the other end. I'm not gonna bring it up. That's on him.

 _"Well, I heard you're back to physical therapy for it."_

"Tachibana likes to flap his gums, huh?"

 _"Yeah, but you already knew that. So how's it coming along?"_

"It's not really physical therapy," I correct him. "It's just someone at the university who's in the physical therapy program. I went to school with him. We just do some basic exercises. Free massages whenever I want."

 _"Oh."_

I can feel the disappointment dripping from that one syllable. I know he doesn't mean it, but it stings.

"Yeah."

 _"Well, it's good that you're still working on it though."_

Now it's my turn for silence. There's a palpable moment of tension. I can feel it through the phone, so he must too.

 _"Well, they're calling me down for dinner, so I gotta go. Keep up the good work."_

"Yeah, you too."

 _"Later."_

When I'm sure I've hung up, I toss my phone to the floor and lie down on my bed. The ice pack rests against my shoulder, and soon I feel the inflammation going down.

It's the same conversation with Rin, just different words. It always comes back to my shoulder. I try not to get frustrated about it, but it's been almost a year, and he still brings it up every other time we talk. I know what he's trying to do. He wants to push me the way we've always pushed each other. Since we were kids, it was what we did best. I was better because of him, and he was better because of me.

But things are different now. I know Rin thinks this is just some hurdle I have to get past—like if I push hard enough, I can work through it. But pushing is what got me here in the first place. This isn't a hurdle, it's a goddamn dead end. I know he thinks I just need to have the right mindset—like if I can work past it mentally, then physically it'll just fall into place. He told me once that I'm letting it _change_ me.

But why does that have to be a bad thing?

Yeah, it's shitty. I hate not being able to swim. It was my dream, to swim in the Olympics next to Rin. He likes to act like he's the one who's most upset about it, but it just isn't true. It did change me.

But why do I have to work through it? Is this even something to work through? What if it changes me, and I just let it? Is that really so bad?

Just when I feel too frustrated to sleep, I doze off, the ice pack slipping off my shoulder. I dream about salmon swimming upstream and Makoto cooking mackerel with pineapple and about the girl with the glasses slipping down her nose.

I wish I could have normal dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

I stuff my hands in the pockets of my jacket, shielding them from the biting wind. January is not being kind to me. I lost my gloves last week and forgot to buy a new pair. It's been below freezing every day since then.

I'm grateful for the warmth of the math building. I make my way toward the lecture hall where I spend every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from 10:00-10:50 learning about finite math—a topic I've been fluent in for at least three years. The class isn't huge, but it's big enough for me to get lost in. I make my way toward the back, where Makoto and Haru are already waiting.

"Why do you guys get here so early _every day_?" I ask exasperatedly.

"I just come from the next building over," Makoto replies. "And Haru gets done at the pool at 9:00, so he just comes right from there."

"Better than being late," Haru adds in an undertone.

"Whatever," I grumble.

I drop into my seat next to Makoto, trying to ignore Haru as best as I can. Thankfully, this is the only class I have with him. Makoto and I also have a literature class together, but I at least get along with him.

The cold weather makes my shoulder feel stiff. I roll it as gently as I can and am surprised to not feel that familiar spasm of dull pain. Maybe the therapy really is helping.

Unfortunately, I am distracted from this marginal victory by someone that I was half-hoping I wouldn't have to see again. Someone with blonde hair and glasses who is _once again_ staring at me. She is walking up the steps of the lecture hall, not even bothering to look where she's going. And no matter how hard I stare her down, she doesn't look away until she ducks into the row in front of me. She sidles down until she is directly in front of me and takes a seat.

I have a feeling she's probably been in this class all semester and I just haven't noticed her, but still, this is weird.

However, I'm not given time to ruminate on it as the professor arrives and starts up class. The lecture is boring, something about matrices that I'm only half-listening to. I'm thoroughly distracted by the girl in front of me. She has pulled out her laptop and, to my amazement, popped in an ear bud. She opens what looks like some kind of music mixing program and sets to work. I can't even follow what she's doing—partly because it's complicated and partly because she's doing it _so fucking fast_. Like, it doesn't seem physically possible that she's moving her finger that quickly on the track pad. A glance to my right shows me that Makoto is equally distracted by her activity.

Which is why we're all caught off guard when the professor suddenly stops talking and there is a general murmuring throughout the lecture hall. A glance at my watch tells me he's only been talking for 30 minutes. The rest of the room looks to be getting in groups. Most of them are in teams of four.

"Excuse me," Makoto says suddenly, leaning toward the girl in front of us.

She turns her head toward Makoto and glances back at him curiously.

"I think we're supposed to be getting in groups, would you like to join us? We'll have four, then," he asks.

"Oi, who says I want to be in a group with you two?" I ask abruptly.

"Yeah, sure," she says, ignoring me.

I gather from context clues that we're supposed to work on the sheet that the professor is passing out in these groups. Haru goes to the other side of the table and he and the girl face Makoto and me. She hasn't even bothered to close her computer up, but if the professor sees it, he doesn't say anything.

"Um, it's nice to meet you," Makoto leans toward the girl again. "My name is Tachibana Makoto. That's Nanase Haruka," he gestures to Haru. "And this is Yamazaki Sousuke," he points to me.

"Amakatsu Kimiko," she replies.

"What's that you're working on there?" Makoto asks, gesturing toward her laptop.

"Just mixing something for a class."

"Oh, that's neat."

"Yeah, it's alright."

She isn't exactly prickly, but she isn't very forthcoming either. She makes polite conversation with Makoto, though it seems like she'd much rather be back at her computer.

It's clear once we start the assignment that Makoto and I are the only ones who understand. I'm fully aware of the fact that this class isn't Haru's strong suit, judging by how often he and Makoto sit at our living room table and work on it. But, even considering his generally indifferent attitude, he's at least trying. Amakatsu is literally just sitting there. And I'm starting to get irritated.

"What did you get for number twelve?" I ask her.

"I didn't," she replies simply.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I didn't get anything."

"Why?"

"Uh, because I didn't do it," she retorts in a voice that implies I'm the idiot for even asking.

"Why the hell not?" I ask sharply.

"Because none of this makes any sense to me."

"Maybe if you paid attention to the lecture, it might," I bite back.

"I don't pay attention because it won't help," she counters. "Numbers don't make any sense to me."

"Aren't there numbers on that computer? Because last I checked, all computers use them."

"I can _read_ numbers, I'm not an invalid. I'm saying I can't manipulate them. I literally cannot wrap my brain around it."

I'm not sure when this turned into such a heated argument, but I can tell it's escalated quickly by the way Makoto and even Haru are watching me—which is infuriating, because she's also to blame, but whatever. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself before I speak again.

"Do you want help then?"

"It won't do any good," she replies simply.

I hear Makoto let out a laugh beside me. Even Haru is cracking a smile. Meanwhile, my blood pressure is probably topping out at the highest acceptable maximum.

"Fine, whatever, fucking fail, I don't care," I grumble, losing my composure.

"How's your shoulder?"

The question catches me off guard, and for a minute, I forget that I'm mad.

"It… It's fine," I mumble.

"Aizawa was saying it was god awful when you first came in," she notes.

"So you're the girlfriend that he uses as a dummy?"

"Charming," she grimaces. "Unfortunately, yes."

"You call your boyfriend by his last name?" I ask incredulously.

"I prefer it," she shrugs. "Were you really swimming with it like that?"

"What's it to you?" I prickle.

"It's not," she replies. "But do you remember when you first hurt it?"

"I… I think so," I mumble.

"I'm not asking if you _think_ you remember when, idiot."

The _idiot_ portion of that makes my jaw clench, and I'm sure my blood pressure has now reached a critical point.

"It was a match against Igarashi High, the fall of my first year of high school," I retort.

She rests her elbow on the table and sets her chin in her hand. Despite her sarcastic quips, she looks more fascinated than annoyed.

"Even though you hurt yourself, you were the first one to hit the wall," she muses thoughtfully, adjusting her glasses.

"How… How did you know that?" I ask, now a bit concerned.

"You do remember Aizawa was on your team, right?" she asks sardonically.

"Oh… Yeah."

It should've been obvious from the start, and I immediately feel stupid. She isn't a stalker. She was staring at me because she was honestly trying to remember where she'd seen me. It had to have been at the meets, where she'd probably been cheering on her boyfriend. And if she was there for my injury, she probably got an extended look at me, so it would make sense that she remembered. I wonder for only a moment why I don't remember her, but then I realize that's a dumb question. I was so focused on swimming back then, I barely paid attention to what was going on around me. If I don't remember my actual teammates, why would I remember their girlfriends?

"Do you swim?" Makoto asks suddenly, trying to break the silence that's settled over us.

"No, I never learned," she replies.

"Wait, your boyfriend is a swimmer and you don't know how to swim?" I ask skeptically.

"Yeah, well, I mix music and he doesn't know how to do that," she counters. "What a ridiculous argument."

"Stupid, that's not what I meant," I growl.

Suddenly, a smile spreads over her face. I'm not sure what I said to amuse her. I wonder if maybe she's making fun of me, but it really doesn't seem like it. She just seems amused.

"I know what you meant," she says. "But I just never really wanted to learn. Do you two swim?" The question is directed toward Haru and Makoto.

"We do, yeah," Makoto nods. "Haru and I were on the same team in high school. And he actually swims on the university team now."

"Impressive," she marvels.

"Not really," Haru says.

"He's just modest," Makoto cuts in. "We should probably get this finished though, class is almost over."

With no help from Amakatsu, we finish the assignment just as the clock hits 10:50. Before I can have another tense conversation, I gather my things and flee the room. I have an appointment with Aizawa at 11:00 anyway, and it's across campus, so I have an excuse for not sticking around.

I only have to sit in the lounge full of students for about five minutes before Aizawa comes to get me. We're about halfway through my exercises, and I'm feeling particularly irritable, so I can't stop myself from opening my mouth.

"Your girlfriend's weird."

Instead of getting offended, like I assume a normal boyfriend would, he just smiles bemusedly.

"So you finally got to talk, then?"

"What does that mean?"

"She was a big fan of yours in high school," he notes. "Two more reps, come on."

"Didn't that make you kinda jealous?" I ask through my teeth, lifting the resistance band laterally and wishing not for the first time today that I were dead.

"I don't think it was anything like that," he brushes it off. "And I couldn't really blame her. You were the best swimmer on the team, before… Well, you know. But you were so powerful. It was like you controlled the water. She was actually the one who told me that."

"I don't know about that," I scoff.

"Well, it's true. She got pretty upset when you hurt your shoulder. She's always been really in tune with other people, it's like she feels their emotions for them, in her own weird way."

"She's weird, alright," I grunt, finishing the last lateral swing and wanting to fall to the ground in a heap.

"She's changed a bit, for sure. But she's always been a little different," he laughs.

If "different" meant "unpleasant and more sardonic than Haru," then he's right on the money. Still, it's surprising to find out that she liked to watch him swim—especially given her confession today. Which reminds me…

"You never taught her how to swim?" I ask as he starts massaging my shoulder.

"I offered a lot, but she never wanted to," he replies. "She never really gave me a reason, but I always thought that maybe she was kind of scared."

"That's probably not it," I say without thinking.

"Really?"

"Well… I mean, I don't know her that well," I backpedal. "It just… She doesn't exactly seem like she'd shy away from a challenge."

He's quiet for a minute, and I'm a little unnerved because I can't see him. Then, he releases a breathy laugh.

"You're right about that," he concedes.


End file.
